


Give me a Sign I wanna Believe

by colorfulCheshire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Humanstuck, M/M, dress!Kankri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulCheshire/pseuds/colorfulCheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you've paid for.]</p>
<p>Extravagant parties are nothing new for you - another song, another glass, and another girl.  But tonight's offers you something entirely different, and you're unable to look away from the masked stranger with dark curls and a dress the color of roses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give me a Sign I wanna Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and written to [The Ballad of Mona Lisa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOgpdp3lP8M).

The band slows their tempo to a crawl before the violinist steps forward and the instrument’s voice swells above everything else – the soft piano, the muffled chatter, and the ever-clinking glasses – before dying down again as the speed rises. You smile, this pace suiting your tastes more when you’re still working on getting your first glass of champagne from the ever-moving server. Slow songs would have to wait until later when you’re loosened up and have found some masked angel to lead around with linked arms and comfortable laughter.

It’s a bit odd to scan the crowd, your vision narrowed by the mask resting comfortably against your face, but you take an occupied spot against one of the pillars in the room to sip your drink that you’ve finally managed to lift from one of the silver trays that seemed to be floating around the room beside nondescript help. A flash of red catches your eyes, the shape warped through your glass, but when you lower it to get a better look, whatever it was is now buried in a sea of gossamer and glitter. You frown, and are about to take another sip when you spot another flash of red, a shimmering mask lined with silver trim and framed beneath short, dark curls.

They turn, and for the briefest of moments, your eyes meet. You’re staring into calculated amber, unable to ignore how well the red frames their warm gaze nor the small half-smile painted onto russet skin when they size you up and turn away, eyes lingering a bit longer than disinterest would indicate. Your body is moving toward the sea of suits and dresses before you can even register the thought, a cool chill stiffening your spine and pushing you forward in both curiosity and sudden desire.

You slip into the crowd easily, the waves of people sliding around your form as you navigate, your gaze flitting around the array of hidden faces for rose red and that tantalizing half-smile, and you’re still not sure why, but you’re hooked, unable to escape even if you can’t see your captor. On the edge of the marble dance floor, you catch sight of dark curls, tinted indigo, brushing temptingly against the nape of her neck, tanned shoulders and back exposed with a strapless red dress, and you nearly trip over your polished shoes when you turn sharply in her direction.

You make it out and back into the sea of people, crossing briefly over the more spacious dancing area before finding yourself surrounded by a wave of partygoers once again, your eyes now trained to the rose-red bodice of a floor-length gown as it glides past a blur of blues, greens, and violets, none of the other colors meaning anything to you now. She makes it out the other end, stopping entirely outside a hallway that leads to the outside grounds, and while this is your chance to catch up, your feet stop of their own accord as dark curls turn and you catch site of that bright mask again. You can’t see her eyes from the shadows, but you can feel them on you, a smirk tugging at painted crimson lips before she disappears around the corner.

You find your footing again, your heart hammering in your chest as you scramble out of the crowd, dropping your half-finished glass of champagne off on the nearest tray without a second glance. You make it to the hall, but the woman in red is nowhere to be seen. You hope that you haven’t lost her, an image of that tantalizing smile playing over in your head, and you rush forward, skin prickling beneath your sleeves as anticipation takes hold.

You wouldn’t have noticed her outside in the garden if not for the vibrant hue of her dress standing out against the shadows of the trees. You pause, straighten your tie and hair while she’s turned away from you, and slip out the double glass-paned doors and onto the cool patio. She turns briefly, crimson mask appearing to float in the night air as her face nearly blends with the shadows cast by the tree overhead, and you’re drawn forward despite your lack of anything to say. You fear that you’re just going to stand there awkwardly and miss your chance (chance of what, you’re not sure), but she spares you the fate of an awkward greeting.

“This party must not be your glass of champagne if you’ve been run off out here.” _His_ voice, you realize, is clear and articulate – gentle, but strong-willed – and it leaves you wanting more, wanting to pull every detail you can from him just to listen as long as you can. Maybe it would give you enough time to decipher his smile that seemed to paint his words with the same air of mystery wrapping itself around the rest of him.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you manage, finding your voice again as you step beside him under the tree. He’s staring off into the gardens as if he can see something you can’t out in the shadows, and you almost forget that you were in the middle of speaking. “Just thought I’d find something more my taste out here.” You eye him from the side, grinning down at him in his bright mask and dress, but he doesn’t look your way, his smile unfaltering, and you want to curse for almost losing your nerve over it.

“Uh, and what about you? This party not your style? Gotta admit that you stand out from the crowd in there.” Like a single flower on a rose bush, your thoughts silently add.

“Very perceptive, Mr. Ampora.” You still at your name, glancing down again and searching for any distinguishing feature left unhidden by his mask. He catches your eyes and you freeze, but he says nothing more about how he knows you.

“Indeed, I’m normally not one to attend such trifling parties, preferring to spend my nights elsewhere entirely.” His smile has softened as he looks out onto the darkened grounds, and you’re suddenly aware of how badly you want to kiss those lips. You bite the inside of your own lips and stay quiet, however, letting him speak. You must know him from somewhere, but you can’t recall ever speaking to a man so beautiful before.

“However,” he continues, eyes lit by the faint glow of the crescent moon, “there’s nothing wrong with having a little sociable fun every once in a while, and what better occasion than one where all the participants are required to conceal their true faces? It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?” He tilts his head upwards, eyes trained on you with his question, almost like a challenge, though you’re not sure what you’re being challenged on. It sends a buzz through your body, racing through your nerves like you’re walking on thin ice.

It _is_ exciting, you think, exciting, exotic, and straight out of a fairy tale – both this party and the mysterious man at your side with sharp eyes and a knowing smile. It’s exciting to wonder what’s beneath his mask and why he drew you out with little more than a glance and a grin. You don’t say any of this however, unable to find something more eloquent and suitable without stumbling over your dry tongue. He seems to notice, eyes widening in a play for innocent concern, or it seems a play when his lips are still upturned in a pleasant gesture.

“Oh, I didn’t upset you any, did I?” Your eyes widen in surprise and his narrow with a grin, like a cat who’s cornered a mouse, and you’re still speechless. “You really must be diligent in alerting people if some topics are sensitive for you, lest we be unable to avoid situations like this.”

Miraculously, you manage to find your words, and with a smooth hand through your hair, you recover from your silence. “Not at all, doll. Just a bit surprised that such a cute thing can see past my mask. Leaves a gentleman at a disadvantage, you know.” You offer a charming grin, hand in your hair and pose as relaxed and nonchalant as you can make it, as if you’re not burning to figure out the person beneath the mask and why he knows you enough to see through your own.

“Oh dear, I didn’t hurt your ego now did I, sir?” he counters with a laugh. “No, I assure you, sir, that your disguise is superb – quite impressive in design really. It’s just that you have distinguishing features not easily forgotten, and I don’t recall ever having met someone else with quite so handsome a face.”

You can feel your cheeks growing warm from the compliment, and damn him for doing this to you. You’ve never lost your composure so quickly before, and you want to swear when he turns to you, lightly setting gloved fingers against your jaw and making your knees go weak. You swallow the lump in your throat as he tilts your chin down, his gaze burning across your skin in the dark.

“No,” he quietly muses, the fabric over his thumb smooth the edge of your lower lip, “I couldn’t forget this face if I wanted.”

Despite how weak you suddenly feel all over, your natural charm returns to you with easy words once again filtering over the haze in your mind. You want to sweep that sly smile from his lips and watch his face fill with color, to leave him speechless like he’s done to you. There’s no way someone can stay so cool and collected, so perfectly beautiful and just out of your reach.

Your revived words fall short, however, when warm hands cup your jaw on either side, pulling you forward into an unexpected kiss. His body is delicate against yours as he leans up to meet you, and you lean forward to compensate before you can fully register what’s going on. There’s a hand in your hair and one on your waist by the time you can comprehend the press of his smile against your lips and when you do, you’re melting into his touch.

You’re not in control of this kiss by any means, your hands resting delicately on his waist as if you might scare him off should you hold too tight, and you’re too lost in your surprise and how nice he feels against you for your thoughts to catch up. His tongue is pressing warm and wet against your lips, licking carefully like he’s not sure what he’s doing, but you’re too lost to take control and can only manage an open-mouthed sigh as you let him take the lead, mirroring his movements in your hazy bliss.

When he pulls away, both his hands sliding to your shoulders, you feel dizzy and fulfilled. A strange sort of bliss is floating through your head as he looks up at you and whispers, “I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” his voice quiet and tinted with amazement. The small smile on his face is one of giddy joy, and your heart skips a beat over the unmasked emotion.

The silence following his quiet confession is broken by a burst of loud conversation in the hallway behind the two of you. You turn your head quickly as a small group of partygoers files out of the double doors and onto the patio, laughing and talking loudly, but they don’t seem to notice nor care about you and the stranger against you, or that had just been against you, kissing your breath away.

Your mind registers the lack of contact and you turn back to the man in front of you, only to find yourself alone. You stare out into the gardens, trying to distinguish any shapes in the shadows, but you see no movement nor any trace of the rose-red dress. You’re at a loss for what to say or do, but as you turn to head back inside, feeling oddly empty, you can’t help but to taste the trace of lipstick left on your tongue, leaving you with a mind full of red and silver and russet skin.


End file.
